


Isn't it a Pity?

by doctoralanabloom



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fade to Black, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, general sadness, honestly most of this takes place at the funeral, in which the gang attends beverly's funeral, kind of inspired by Isn't it a Pity by George Harrison, little tiny bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2609912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctoralanabloom/pseuds/doctoralanabloom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alana Bloom and Brian Zeller dazedly make their way through Beverly Katz's funeral... and to the same hotel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Isn't it a Pity?

The only color at Beverly Katz’s funeral is in the flowers. Everyone there is dressed head to toe in black. There are moments in which not a single eye is dry. Alana Bloom sticks very close to Brian Zeller and Jimmy Price the whole time. She’d wondered, on the drive over, if it would even be appropriate to attend. And, of course, it is; Beverly had been a co-worker, a friend. But Alana does not do well at funerals. Grief is one of her biggest fears, and confronting it at a ceremony held to show respect and honor will be a daunting task. She resolves outside, leaning against her car, to hold her own at all costs.

Zeller has felt like a zombie for days now. The color has drained from his face, returning only when his cheeks pink from crying, from sobbing, from drinking, from screaming. The pain has lasted a shorter time than he expected; maybe a few days. At some point in the week it had all turned into nothingness, and when he finds himself outside the funeral parlor, dressed impressively well all things considered, he’s not even sure how he got there. His eyes wander numbly over the rows of cars and he sees Alana, hip against her blue Prius, already scrubbing at the corners of her eyes. He walks over slowly, practically in a trance, and lays a warm hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t startle like she normally might, and instead covers his hand with her own.

“How are you?” Her voice is gentle. Zeller just shakes his head.

“Bad… bad.” He lets his hand drop back to his side, and Alana tries to smile at him. Sadness colors her eyes where it drains his, and Jimmy Price walks over to them, painfully sober. He’d spotted the two from where his car is parked a little ways to the left. The sun burns his eyes. He hasn’t been out of his house in days. He spent yesterday dealing with the week’s hangover- a doozy- and is now facing the harsh reality until nightfall, when he will catapult himself back to the bottom of the bottle.

Maybe he’ll look into AA.

“Alright, kids,” he says, voice lower than normal, and dry, “let’s go.” Brian shakes his hand, and Alana kisses him on the cheek. She begins to walk towards the doors, but first Zeller pulls Price into a stiff hug. It does nothing to comfort either of them, and they break by slapping each other lightly on the back, but the sentiment is there, and they follow Alana inside.

The casket is closed. Everyone in attendance knows. Knows that she’s in the lab, might remain there until the case is solved. Or closed, anyway. Zeller’s speech feels heavy in his pocket, only one page filled with the softer and less weighty things he can say about her to her family, her friends that he’s never met. He trusts that it will be long and tear-filled, and that everyone will suffer through it and be relieved when it’s over. The three of them go down the receiving line, Alana first, then Price, and then Zeller. He watches Alana go down to each one of them; Bev’s parents, then her two younger siblings. Her brother is around 25, and the sister looks like she’s barely pushing 20. Mr. Katz stands with a stoic arm curled around his wife, though his eyes are wet. The siblings hold hands. Alana’s voice is hushed and empathetic. He has no idea what she’s saying, and he knows that it probably is doing very little to comfort the Katz family, but she embraces each one of them in turn, and goes to sit. He notices that she’s beautiful as if it’s a new discovery.

You’d never suspect that Price had been drowning himself in booze all week. Zeller only knows because they’re friends, because he knows Jimmy too well. The man speaks softly and kindly to all of Bev’s relatives (and really, that’s all you can do in these situations) and sits beside Alana. The whole thing happens like a dream. Zee’s talking to Bev’s parents, saying the things he ran over in his head, the things he’d read in his speech. He doesn’t tell them that he’s going to be lost without her, just that she was one of the most wonderful, smart, inward and outwardly beautiful, and important people he’d ever met. Tears are shed, hands are shaken, he goes to sit in front of the coffin.

It’s so goddamned hard not to cry. He doesn’t notice when Jack Crawford walks in, but at some point he sees the man, his unflinching boss, crying silently. It jars him to see Jack Crawford cry, but he knows enough to leave the man to grieve on his own. Once everyone is seated, Beverly’s family members get up and speak. The speeches are heart wrenching at best. Tears spring to his eyes, spill over, stain his shirt. He wipes them away roughly, wanting to be strong for Bev. She’d never let him hear the end of it if she ever saw him crying in public like this. Price is crying, too. He hears Alana sniffling beside him. They’re a collective mess, all broken hearts, alcohol soaked bellies, and tear streaked cheeks.

Before he can pull himself together, it’s his turn to speak. Bev’s dad pats his shoulder gently, and then Zeller is standing behind the podium. He clears his throat into the microphone, cringing at the feedback. “Beverly Katz was one of my closest friends…”

Alana sits among the mourners with every muscle of her body clenched tightly to keep herself from breaking. She wants to fix this, wants to change everything, erase the pain of her friends, this beautiful family, bring the life back into that wonderful woman who made her smile so often. Zeller stands in front of the podium, and she’s doing her best to block out his words, though they still shatter against her eardrums. He’s crushed, he is broken, and he is sharing this intimate thing with all of these people, yet it sounds restrained. Perhaps it’s the profiler in her, but she can tell there are things he isn’t saying. The anger, the desolation that she knows he must feel are bunched up somewhere that he isn’t reaching. It’s appropriate, but she hates to think that perhaps Brian has not felt what he needs to feel to its full extent. Price suffers quietly beside her, and they both stiffen when Zeller's voice cracks. It draws Alana’s attention back to the speech.

“...but that’s not what matters. What matters is… Bev touched all of us, in some way. The world is better off for having had her. And… ah, she’s… she’s always gonna be my girl.” His cheeks burn a little. Someone is bound to take that the wrong way. He shuffles back to his seat, and Beverly’s mom thanks everyone for coming to support the family. He says subdued goodbyes to them, nods to Jack and hurries out into the evening, loosening his tie. Vaguely, he remembers that the FBI rented out a block of a few rooms in a nearby hotel so none of them would have to drive home. He gets in his car, and drives off, not bothering to say anything to Price or Alana. He’s not in any state to, so he figures he’ll save them the trouble.

* * *

 

 

Alana embraces Jack tightly, and kisses his cheek. “Drive safe, Jack.” He’s going home to be with Bella, which makes sense. If anyone has a chance at consoling him, it’s her. She looks for Price, but doesn’t see him. Zeller appears to be gone as well. She wants to talk to him. She wants to talk to Price too, but she knows no amount of coaxing will get him to keep from drinking. And tonight, he deserves it anyway. Allowances can be made for grief.

The drive to the hotel is short, Jack gave her an address and the GPS had a quick route. She only has a little bag with her. If she can sleep the night off, she’ll call it a success and be home the next afternoon. No need to linger in the mucky headspace of fresh mourning longer than she has to. The parking lot is crowded once Alana gets there. It’s probably the start of check-in time. Inside, there’s a line thick with irritated tourists and the people on the other side of the desks are all typing, printing, and explaining things frantically while a young man, probably the manager, buzzes from place to place apologizing and giving out free extra nights. The waiting area, thankfully, is not very populated; it looks like everyone who might have been sitting around has swarmed the counter. The only person sitting there is a man, chin against his chest, asleep. Alana sits diagonally across from him, sneaking a glance while she leans down to pull a book from out of her bag. It’s Zee, probably wiped out from the long and gruelling day. Alana picks up her things and sits beside him, not bothering to wake him up. She is consoled that at least, though it is in a small and insignificant way, she is looking out for him.

Zee doesn’t even realize he’s been asleep until he feels someone shaking him awake. The lights in the lobby are bright, and he squints until he sees that it’s Alana, sitting beside him wearing the same sad smile she’s been giving him for the past few weeks. From anyone else, it might bother him, but from her, it comforts him for whatever reason.

“Was I asleep? What time is it?” He sits up and shakes his head. “And… Hi. Sorry.”

“Not long, maybe a half hour. There was some crazy-”

“Yeah that whole rush at the desk. Jesus.”

“Mm. Well... looks like it’s cleared, at any rate.”

“Right. I’ll, ah… You’re staying overnight too, I guess.”

“Yeah, yeah… I didn’t want to be driving this late, and…”

“Yeah. No, me neither.”

“So I guess we should check in for the night, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah.”

They both wander over to the desk to check in, and a slightly awkward elevator ride later, have said stiff goodnights and gone into their respective rooms. They’re next to each other, making the silent walk down the hall all the more uncomfortable.

“Ah… I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good night, Alana.”

“Night Brian. Sleep well.”

* * *

 

Alana doesn’t fall asleep for more than a few hours at a time. She keeps waking up, feeling disoriented. She feels the loss all over again, it becomes newly heavy, and she doesn’t bother trying to go back to sleep. A few minutes pass, and she hears something land heavily against the wall she’s facing. Then she hears it again, and again. Zee’s in that room. She should go over, check on him. Something is very clearly wrong. Not bothering to tug on real clothes, Alana slips a room key into the back pocket of her pajamas and goes to the next door. She knocks hesitantly at first, not wanting to wake the other guests, and then gives up and knocks loudly enough for him to hear. “Zeller? It’s just me…”

He opens the door a crack. “Alana. Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“No, no. I was already awake.” There’s a pause. “Can I come in?”

“What? Uh. Yeah, sure.” He scoots the door open and she slips in, seamlessly grabbing his hand once she’s over the threshold, and inspecting it. “Your knuckles are really red, but I’m guessing you didn’t break anything.”

“Uhm… yeah. No. I didn’t.” He looks down at his hand, big in Alana’s. She doesn’t let go, just holds it, runs a thumb lightly over the knuckles.

“Is there anything I can do? Even if it’s just for tonight.” Her voice alone is soothing. Zeller wants to drown out everything else, just focus on her. The hurt ebbs away to a dull ache and before he can tell whether or not this is a function of a grief-stricken and raw need, he leans in and kisses her.

Alana is surprised, yes, but not unwilling in the slightest. His mouth is soft against hers, and a catharsis blossoms between their lips, at least for her. A gentle hand slips behind his neck and into his hair, the other against his back, pressing him to her. She isn’t thinking, she is simply doing, giving herself over to the moment. Zee’s hands move to the small of her back and the nape of her neck, and she sighs against his lips. The moment, though not perfect, is everything she needs until the voice at the back of her head tells her to stop. Albeit reluctantly, Alana pulls away, moving her hand to his cheek.

“I don’t know if I can do this, I… I feel like I’m taking advantage of you,” she says quietly. Zeller almost laughs.

“Alana, I… I _want_ this. Really, I do. It’s not… It’s not like that.”

And they both know he’s lying; that it is like that, but that doesn’t mean that it’s wrong. Soon she’s kissing him again, and he lifts her lightly off her feet to alleviate the height difference. Alana’s legs hook around his hips, and he stumbles towards the bed as she trails kisses down his jaw to his neck to his collarbone. He lets out a contented hum into her hair as he sits down, she tips him backwards, and they disappear into each other.

* * *

 

Zee wakes up sobbing. It’s only four o’clock in the morning, and Alana shoots bolt upright, as if the root of his suffering is lurking somewhere around the room. He shoves his face in his pillow, ashamed, voice growing louder by the second. Taking a deep breath, Alana sidles up to him and runs her hand soothingly over his back. Her lips brush the side of his neck and she whispers into his skin, “I’m here, I’m here… I’m sorry, Zee, I’m so sorry. It’s okay… You’re going to be okay, I’ve got you.” He shudders, taking deep and shaky breaths. Alana matches the pace of her breathing to his, still murmuring softly. What she says hardly registers, but the gentle rhythm of her voice calms him, and Zeller rolls onto his side so he’s facing her. She wipes stray tears off of his cheeks with the back of her index finger and presses a kiss against his temple. They fall asleep with his head tucked under her chin, a tangle of protective limbs.

The next morning should be awkward, but on the whole it is pleasant. Alana wakes up first, and takes a shower while Zeller still sleeps. Once she’s finished, he too, is awake and dressed, sitting in a chair with a vacant look in his eyes. It's foolish of Alana to have expected any less. His eyes flick up to her face when she emerges, and he actually smiles at her. It is a broken one, and the effort almost cripples him.

“Thank you,” he says, mouth dry, “for everything. Last night, and… Everything.”

“You’re more than welcome. I… I think we both needed that.”

“We should do it again sometime.”

“Mm,” Alana muses, chuckling, “maybe we should.” She leans over the chair and kisses him on the cheek, then the forehead. “I want you to call me if you ever need anything, all right? Anything at all.” She squeezes his shoulder and turns to leave. They both know what she’s leaving unsaid, and Zeller files the notion away. Perhaps he’ll take her up on it. He can hear her packing her things in the next room.

They run into each other again in the parking lot and exchange small self conscious waves before Alana climbs into her blue Prius. Zeller waits, leaning against his car, until Alana has pulled out of the parking lot. He watches her as she drives away until she's simply a blue speck on the gray horizon.


End file.
